Chinar

Annapurna Shekhawat ran her fingers through her short gray hair, put her gold-framed specs away and stacked the business and general newspapers meticulously in two heaps. So Mr. Patel had been right about Kashyap, her nephew and heir apparent to the vast Shekhawat fortunes built on oil, textiles and steel.

Kashyap. Kash. That’s what his friends called him, a rather fast set of youngsters, all born to the manor, born with silver spoon privileges. Falling profit at the conglomerates that their forefathers had painstakingly built, and ever- increasing party-time, fashion shows, art events. Lamborghinis and pedigreed horses had enthralled Kashyap even as their oldest factory, the one her father-in-law had first built in Calcutta in 1955, was shut down, the real estate squirreled away and sold.

Mr. Patel, ever the loyal retainer, had coughed politely as was typical when he wanted to say something unpleasant. But he had been right. Something had to be done, and quickly.

Annapurna sighed. It was not the boy’s fault. No. It never was the boy’s fault. A pampered upbringing, the very best public school, hobnobbing with the sons of erstwhile rulers, offspring of politicians, old-money business scions. Vacations in Paris, in Lucerne. The best of this and that. Pampered, like fine china.

After all, he was the heir-apparent, she had no children, it was assumed the legacy would pass to Kash. Spoilt, indulged. None of that rough and tumble her husband had been put through, worked to the bone even as he was studying. No far-flung factory assignment, no punishing training in the Indian system of numbers after school hours, every moment accounted for. No ambition. And the tragedy had made it worse.

Kash had lost his parents in an air crash that had no survivors. He was suddenly the poor boy in tragic circumstances. It was impossible to tell him anything after that, he could do no wrong, not to the cloying relatives and hangers-on. Even his arranged marriage to a good girl from a middle class family hadn’t worked as she’d expected, for the girl had changed overnight; now the constant partying and socializing kept the young couple busy.

It was too bad she had no children. “ Perhaps if there were sibling rivalry. Perhaps if he had had more time..”. Annapurna looked into the distance past the row of chinar trees that lined the curving drive to the portico of the mansion. But now something would have to be done.

The bearer knocked politely before clearing away the silver tea service. The lawyers would be here soon. There’d be a ruckus when her will would be read, glaring headlines and outcry, an outsider walking away with the family fortune!

She must begin the process of creating a meticulous paper trail to back her decision.